


Horncloth

by TerresDeBrume



Series: In which Asgard and Jotunheim are at (relative) peace [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe, Community: norsekink, Cultural Differences, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decency, in the end, is a rather fluid concept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horncloth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/8195.html?thread=15890179#t15890179) on Norsekink.
> 
> If any of you has read _Technicolor Meal_ , know that this story takes place in the universe canon!Loki and the others visited in this snippet, about twenty to thirty years after the events depicted in TM.

“And you say they looked exactly like us?” Tony asks, and this time Loki growls because he’s explained it too many fucking times already.

“ _Yes_ , Stark, exactly like us. Well, except for me. He looked half starved and he didn’t even have  _horns_.”

 

Which was, frankly, more than a bit disquieting because yes, his started growing later than they usually do, but this Loki was older than he is now, and  _still_ didn’t even have any stub. It was borderline humiliating.

Stark, of course, doesn’t care about that, and he laughs when he hears about the other version of his new teammate.

 

“I am delighted that you find the idea of my being underfed so hilarious,” Loki groans, and Tony snorts:

“Oh please. Underfed or not, I’m pretty sure he could have held his own against any of us without problem. Couldn’t he?”

“Except you,” Loki says. “Your ego is way too big to allow for anyone.”

“Hey!” Tony protests, “I am offended by that comment.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes again, and he gets up from the couch where he was talking with the Man of Iron, backbone popping back into place after staying so long into a couch that is  _way too small_  for him and his eight foot three. And to think he’s considered a runt back home –he’d like to see how those little mortals react to Helblindy, or even _Byleistr_.

He can feel Stark’s eyes following him when he rises in a jingle of jewels and bracelet hanging on his blue skin. It is too hot in here, even with the cooling spells he put on himself before coming to Midgard, but having that gaze entirely focused on him makes his skin grow darker, the cuts on his skin tingle with anticipation –though anticipation of what, he’s not sure he really knows.

 

“Careful,” Stark calls after him, “You’re losing something.”

 

Loki’s hands fly up to his horns and, sure enough, the deep green silk he wrapped around them this morning is falling off. He grabs it all in a mess, mortified, and flees the living room uncaring of Stark’s calls behind him.

 

{ooo}

 

Come dinnertime, and Loki is presentable again. One of the pins he uses to keep his silk in place broke, so he replaced it with the leather skin and silver bracelet his father gifted him with on his last name day, because the black compliment the pale blue of his skin, and it goes well with the embroidered loincloth he bought before he came down here.

He takes great care to always be on his best appearance around here, because it feels like this is the only way he is ever going to fit.

 

He is too tall, too big, too strong, too blue, and the world around him is too warm, too oriented toward technology, too covered. He misses the cold winds of Jotunheim and having food that glows in his plate, and finally eating something that isn’t cooked, but he has to conform to the mortals traditions, so he keeps to himself and fills his growling stomach after dinner in his chambers, plucking plants from the half frozen aquariums until he can feel the cord of his loincloth get too tight for him.

He comes into the room second to last, just before the son of Odin comes into the room and sits down among their fellow Avengers on what Stark calls a ‘barstool’. It doesn’t seem to be the norm around here, but it is the only way Loki has to eat without having to sit sideway lest his knees take the table off the ground, so he doesn’t remark on it.

 

Stark is in the middle of recounting something when Loki and the other extraterrestrial sit down, and the jotun can feel eyes shift to look at him, his face, and then up all the way to his horns.

 

“What?” he asks, nervous, “Am I losing my leather?”

“No,” Natasha says. “But we were wondering why you made such a big deal of it when it happened earlier.”

 

Loki can’t help but throw a murderous glare at Stark, who sits on his right. The mortal looks at him with a mix of practiced innocence and confusion, and Loki feels his skin tingle with the familiar burn of frost, joints barely stiffening anymore now that he is done with puberty.

 

“Look, I didn’t meant to….”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Loki says sharply, just before Stark’s hand touches his shoulder. Then since everyone looks at him with shocked eyes he adds: “You would get burned.”

“He speaks the truth,” the Son of Odin says when the others keep looking skeptical. “I had to suffer the touch of an angry Jotun once, it is not a pleasant experience.”

“But why are you angry?”

 

Loki throws a flat look at the Captain of America. Honestly, why does he think Loki doesn’t want this story to be told around? He personally thinks it should be obvious, but apparently the mortals don’t think so, and the Son of Odin smirks, until his neighbor –the one in the purple shirt- elbows him in the ribs with a hissed  _not now Thor_.

 

“Tell me Captain,” Loki asks, “Are you under the impression that I wear a lot of clothing?”

“Well, you  _did_  tell us you came from somewhere that’s colder than the North Pole,” Stark points out. “We assumed this was your summer costume.”

 

The Son of Odin –Thor, the man in purple said- laughs out loud at that remark, and even though they are supposed to be… not enemies, but  _distant_  in regard to the political situation between their realms, Loki can’t help but chuckle as well.

 

“What?” Barton asks from where he sits opposite Thor, “It’s a perfectly reasonable conclusion.”

“Aye, it is my friend,” Thor agrees, “But it implies that Jotunheim  _has_ summers.”

“We do have summers!” Loki protests, offended on behalf of his people –stupid Asgardians and their never ending sunshine. “Only, your North Pole is very warm in comparison to them.”

 

The Avengers gape at him, and Loki feels his skin get bluer, thicker, even as the sensation of his defense mechanism intensifies.

 

“Woah!” Stark protests after a while, “You’re freezing my suit dude!”

“My apologies,” Loki says, struggling to regain control of his body. “This was unintentional. I do not yet have a full control of my abilities.”

“Yeah, yeah, no hard feeling,” Stark mutters, and the man in a purple shirt leans forward on the table:

“So if your summers are really as cold as you say and this isn’t something you wear when the weather’s hot,” he asks, “does it mean you never wear anything more than that?”

“Yes,” Loki says, cheeks still burning with the cold of humiliation while he watches everyone around the table come to the same conclusion.

“Oops,” Stark says. “Awkward.”

 

Thor laughs, and Loki resists the urge to facepalm.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't/won't comment on AO3? Go Anon (or not) [here](http://fanfanwrites.tumblr.com/ask). Feedback is always appreciated :)


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